By Ze 5th Anything & Everything's Used Against You
by I.write.sins.not.tradgedies
Summary: IZxJTHM. The IZ cast have finally moved on from skool. They're in the real world now, of stupid people & homicidal maniacs. Dib & Gaz are unstumpable detectives until a case with not only dead victims but a dead killer arises. No fluff here peeps. Deal.
1. Chapter 1

Rating: M

This is an ongoing story of Gaz and Dib's adventures as detectives. There will be many guest appearances so I guess it crosses over with a lot of dark, mildly depressing but funny as hell and paretic comics/ cartoons such as JTHM and The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy.

Warnings: It may have yaoi, yuri, or whatever I feel like and I am horribly descriptive with gory scenes and such. Profanity is a given, though it will not be excessive. This story is rated M for a fucking reason. You have been warned.

Disclaimer: I don't own any cartoon characters, products of the real world, nor musical references that I might mention. I doubt anyone would try to sue me, seeing as you don't have enough info on me to and I don't give a shit, so just don't do it.

All flames will be printed, framed, and hung up on my wall of shit to set on fire for my own enjoyment. All _productive critique_ is welcomed and appreciated though.

Now that that is over, here we go.

"**Blood is a river. Flowing darkly admist the tangled roots of the tall and shining city... Ignorance is the root of fear... Silence is a killer."** – News From the Front (Bad Religion)

Chapter 1

Dib, dropping his titanium suitcase onto the floor, shuddered at the sight before him. Well really the two sights before him. The first was the rather obvious amount of blood that pooled the ground, walls, and merchandise. The corpses that were now oozing out their last remaining drops of crimson liquid from tattered bodies were scattered unceremoniously along the floor.

Six in total, Dib could not help but feel a lump settle in his stomach after seeing the bodies' limbs decorating the gas station in the opened freezer, next to some soap products, in the snacks stands, and other places. He would never eat ice cream ever again.

Random organs hung down from the ceiling lights looking like bloody piñatas in some sick twisted version of a five-year-old's birthday party. The sound of inexperienced cops retching behind him faintly registered in his mind but he was too disturbed by his sister's reaction to the gory sight before her to notice.

Gaz's face was the epitome of indifference, her whole demeanor apathetic as always. Goosebumps ghosted Dib's skin. How could she be like this all the time? He could not tell if the bloody scene before him was more unsettling than his sister's manner or not.

He closed his eyes, blocking out the scene for a moment to think back. It had been like this as far as he could remember. It had even got worse ever since they graduated from college, both of them in the field of law. He couldn't remember one time his sister had ever shown any type of affection to him. Well, she had stuck with him throughout life though, he supposed. All through time she was by his side, not really in a supportive way, but still, she had been a huge influence on his life. A constant ominous pressure that he probably could not nor cannot live without.

See after going through the twelve years at Skool, they went to college together, and then were easily recruited into the FBI detective department seeing as Gaz was fluent in the French language and Dib Spanish, Gaz's terrifying aura was quite useful in so many wrong ways, while Dib's persistence, which was almost to a degree of fanatical, was very useful combined with Gaz's unset attitude. Dib's big head had finally been deemed semi-normal after he stopped claiming Zim was an alien. He was intelligent and calculatingly efficient on cases and matched with Gaz's scarier-than-hell personality, brutal but accurate reflexive actions, and supernatural intuition, they made an unconquerable team against the crime scenes of New York City.

Dib snapped out of his thoughts as the sound of rubber slapping against skin broke the eerie silence of the gas station slash slaughterhouse. Gaz had pulled on a pair of latex gloves and was now sorting through the disembodied limbs, trying to identify the bloody bodies. She turned one of the corpses onto its back and Dib couldn't hold it in any longer as its intestines uncoiled from the inside of the torso onto the tiled floor with a loud 'slurp' next to what looked like it had once been cake under the layers of bloody icing.

After composing himself again, Dib turned to help his sister with the difficult task of "putting faces" on the "faceless." Gaz had pulled out a small camera and had begun taking pictures of the corpses from all angles. Even without the skin, someone's identity could be found by the cranial and dental structures in the FBI archives (1).

"So, do you have any idea who could have done this?" Dib pulled on his own pair of gloves before kneeling next to another corpse. He searched for any identification but sighed when he found none.

"No," Gaz answered curtly before moving on to another corpse.

"Is there surveillance anywhere in here? I don't see any cameras," Dib said after taking a thorough look around the ceiling of the room.

"No." The purple-haired detective continued to snap away pictures.

"The owner was too cheap a bastard to set one up?" Dib asked with a small smile, trying to lighten up the mood a bit.

It failed miserably and didn't even elicit a short one worded answer to the poor boy. After Gaz took a few more pictures of different corpses, she shoved the camera into his hands.

"Finish taking the identification pictures." Dib sighed as he watched the back of his violet-haired sister disappear into the store. To any normal person it would seem like she was doing absolutely nothing but slacking off, but Dib knew she was searching for clues. He didn't know how but Gaz seemed to find irregularities in the most regular things.

It wasn't long after Dib continued to photograph the victims that Gaz signaled Dib over with a brusque grunt.

"You've found something?" Dib asked as he hustled over to where Gaz was standing at the back of the gas station.

"What do you make of this?" Gaz asked monotoniously while pointing at a colorful but cheap looking machine on the counter.

Dib stared at the slushy machine. It looked ordinary enough: its "cheerful" purple plastic covering with the big bold yellow letters spelling out, "Brain Freezy" and black dispenser dripping some of the sweet artificially flavored ice onto the floor. "It's a slushy machine for Brain Freezys. What's so important about that?"

"Look closer, at the on and the dispensing button," Gaz said emotionlessly while unconsciously crossing her arms, becoming impatient.

Dib stepped closer and his eyes widened. There was a bloody fingerprint on the dispensing button. Hastily, he searched for the on button and found it on the side of the machine, this one with a whole bloody outline of a hand, like the machine had been hit while the person was turning it on. Dib was confused. "What does it mean?"

Gaz shrugged nonchalantly, "the suspect wanted a Brain Freezy after his or her little activities."

Dib's mind spun, he glanced around the room, his stomach tightening. "You're telling me that this killer, wanted to drink a slushy after brutally mutilating six people?"

"Yes," Gaz said blankly.

Dib sighed deeply, 'Wow, Gaz and he had dealt with a lot of things sick, deranged, and downright creepy many a times before but just wow, this took the cake. Ugh, cake...' Dib fought the urge to gag again.

Gaz began to walk towards the exit of the building, pausing at the door but not turning around. "Get a picture and print of the fingerprint and hand. I want them recorded and matched. I expect a file on the suspect within the hour, Dib." And with that the purple-haired detective walked out of the door, the little chime at the top dinging her departure.

Dib sighed again as he pulled out the camera and took several pictures of both the fingerprint and the handprint. After he was satisfied with his pictures he pulled out a small tube of powder. Lightly blowing some of the white powder onto the prints, he pulled out a role of tape and ripped off two pieces. After firmly sticking tape onto the prints he peeled them off slowly and stuck each one onto separate sheets of paper. Crude but effective.

And with that, Dib neatly shoved the camera, prints, and powder into his suitcase. Tightly shutting his suitcase closed, Dib walked out of the gas station. He peeled off his gloves while signaling towards the police chief with a curt nod that the scene was now free for the lower level agents to enter and search incase they had missed anything. But that had never happened with Gaz's sharp eyes.

Dib, noticing that his sister's motorcycle was no where to be seen, remembered that he had only an hour to finish the file and quickened his pace towards his car.

'Damn Gaz! One hour is barely enough time to make it back to headquarters, match the fingerprints in the database, and make up a file that Gaz would not immediately throw into her piranha filled fish tank.'

Dib slammed on the acceleration pedal as soon as he jammed in his keys and pulled the car onto one of the filthy highways of N.Y.C. He reached HQ under ten minutes and briskly made his way towards his office. Upon entering his small but comfortable office he gently placed his suitcase onto the smooth surface of his mahogany desk. Pulling out the papers with the prints he gently placed them onto his scanner and loaded them onto his desktop in a matter of seconds.

Quickly Dib loaded the prints onto the identification program. After a few seconds his computer emitted a small beep.

'Huh? What do you mean there are no exact matches?' Dib frowned and typed in the command for the program to pull up all similar matches. A couple hundred matches appeared on his screen and Dib groaned.

This was going to be a very long hour.

_To be continued..._

(1) – I do not own the FBI nor do I know their ways of identifying bodies. I don't know a lot about the FBI so any references to the FBI and their procedures I have is probably utterly useless in real life and are only useful in my story.

So, what do you people think of my first post on fanfiction? Feedback is welcomed and appreciated immensely so please take two minutes of your life and review my story. I will update faster if I feel like people actually are reading the things my mind comes up with.

This is _I write Sins not Tragedies _saying review now and tune in later.


	2. Chapter 2

Rating: M

Guest appearances from: Johnny The Homicidal Maniac

"**They cry in the dark, so you can't see their tears. They hide in the light, so you can't see their fears. Forgive and forget, all the while. Love and pain become one and the same in the eyes of a wounded child. Because Hell, Hell is for children. And you know that their little lives can become such a mess. Hell, Hell is for children. And you shouldn't have to pay for your love with your bones and your flesh."**

- _Hell Is For Children _(Pat Benatar)

Chapter 2

Gluing his eyes to the screen, Dib went through the painstaking process of eliminating the impossibilities and tabbing the possibilities. Dib's never-ending determination got him through the long meticulous process and finally, he was down to seven possible candidates.

He skimmed the profiles and immediately eliminated three elderly men that were currently on their deathbeds, one woman under eighteen years old and living in Africa, and one man whom had already died. That left only two men, one at the age of 18 years and the other 29 years. He scanned for any relations between the two men and this town. He scowled when he found none.

Nonetheless, he filed the report on the two men. Their names, ages, D.O.B., places of birth, occupations, criminal history, background of their lives, contact information, connections, height, weight, and other details they might need to piece together to form a motive and find the felon or felons. Dib glanced down at his watch. 'Shit, it's almost 4. I only have five minutes.'

Dib grabbed the papers as soon as they finished printing and crammed them into separate file folders. He flung the door of his office open and practically sprinted out of his room and down the corridor. He stopped abruptly after a sharp turn in front of the steel door with the name "Gaz" etched onto a stone nameplate. For a time there had been their last name etched after his sister's; but shortly after the death of profound Dr. Membrane it was scratched out by none other than the violet haired demoness beyond the very door.

Dib took in a deep breath and knocked lightly on the door. He had learned from his past: you never enter a room of Gaz's without knocking first. She had never outgrown her 'toys' a.k.a. the stuffed bunny and animal co. security system she had had in her room a very long time ago. The one that was programmed to feed on human flesh.

Dib heard the acknowledging grunt of his sister and he swiftly entered the office. Gaz was sitting in her large leather chair, behind her monstrous mahogany desk. She was beating the crap out of some poor pixilated creature on her Game Slave 3. Over the years she still had not grown out of video games, pigs, pizza, and soda.

"Gaz, I have the files on possible suspects for the crime." A few beeps and clicks were the only answer he received. "Don't you want to go over them?"

Gaz glared but turned off her game. "I guess so." She motioned for him to bring the files over to her.

Dib complied and handed the files over to his sister. She opened the folders smoothly and scanned over the info. Her expression never changed and she silently closed the first folder and opened the other. The result was the same for the second folder. "These fingerprints don't match."

Dib's mouth slackened a bit. 'How can she spot any difference in under 20 seconds?' "What do you mean Gaz? I checked them myself and..."

Gaz cut him off with a jab at the picture of the suspect's prints and the prints from the crime scene. "This man has a counterclockwise turn at the edge of his index and middle-finger. The other man has a small vertex on the sides of his fingers. These kinds of marks can't be forged like most other details. The computer probably didn't catch the details from your mediocre prints." Gaz chucked the files into the fish tank behind her. "Were there no other matches?" Gaz said while glaring at him with her eyelids shut.

Dib watched his files start to sink into the clear fresh-water. They never hit the sandy ground as the numerous small fish shredded through the information like hot coals on ice cream. Dib snapped out of his gaze when a potted plant came flying his way. "Well, yes but..."

"Then bring them here. You're not Sherlock Holmes; impossibilities are not as easy to eliminate as you believe." The big black chair Gaz was sitting in swiveled around and Dib was left to stare at the plush back and hear the beeping sounds of the small plastic Game Slave 3.

The sickle-haired boy turned and marched out of the dark office. As soon as the door shut behind him, he let out a deep sigh. 'Why do I even try to please her?' Dib asked himself as he trudged towards his office down the hall.

As he passed by the secretary desk he sighed before telling the purple-haired, now braces-less, lady behind the desk that there was a potted plant to be cleaned up in Gaz's room. Gretchen nodded and said something about a party coming up but Dib didn't really listen. Too preoccupied with his thoughts on the case, he murmured a, "Love too, but I'm busy. Sorry" before trudging along.

He tiredly pushed open his door and collapsed into his swivel chair. Turning towards his computer he clicked it out of sleep mode and went back to the original seven suspects from earlier and pulled up their profiles.

"Hmm, that's interesting..." The profiles of the elderly men and the young woman were easy enough to pull up but the dead man. 'Parts of his profile are missing. How is that possible? Well, what do we have.'

Name: Johnny

Last Name: N/A

Date of birth: N/A

Age: N/A. 'Weird.'

Place of birth: Los Angeles, California.

Height: 5" 9' or 175.26 cm

Weight: 115 pounds

Background: Life in the urban sprawl. Grew up on a suburban street, 'well doesn't that sound familiar', house number 777. No record of school after high school.

Occupations: None confirmed.

Criminal history: None reported.

Connections: Todd Casil– 12-year-old male; was Johnny's neighbor before his reported death, is currently confined in a psychiatric ward.

Devi D. - 26-year-old female; currently a graphic designer for NERVE, a companion of Johnny.

'Death by ex-girlfriend perhaps?' He scanned the picture on the screen. There was an eerie resemblance to his sister. 'Well, if she's anything like Gaz I wouldn't be surprised.'

Dib jumped as the door to his office slammed open. Stalking in came a pissed Gaz. "Why is your petty, little girlfriend in _my_ office?"

Dib shuddered at the rough way irritation laced itself into Gaz's voice. Dib didn't even bother to correct his sister that Gretchen was not his girlfriend. The irritated girl stalked up to the much taller male of the Membrane family, the way a lioness circled a jackal with amputated legs. Dib was paralyzed as he saw the fist coming for his face. He winced as it made impact on his pale cheek with a sickening crunch. He felt shards of crushed teeth pierce his tongue and cheek. The metallic taste of blood filled his senses and seeped from the corners of his lips. Yet, relief flooded through Dib's veins. He had managed to maintain his balance. Gaz would have punished him harder had he shown such weakness as stumbling from just one punch.

The wrathful girl turned and stalked out of the room, muttering a few words Dib could only make out to be, "Girlfriend... out... die... finish... suspects..." before she was too far away to be heard.

Dib sighed for the umpteenth time that day. He had another trip to the dentist apparently scheduled for today. Spitting out most of the broken pieces of bone and blood into a trashcan, Dib buzzed Gretchen for some ice before returning to his reports.

Printing out what he had, he left the gaps on the dead man for Gaz to ponder over. Dib sorted the profile papers into separate folders and quickly gathered them up in his arms. Carrying the manila folders, he walked over to Gaz's office and slid them under the steel door. He knocked three times before he walked back down the hallway, passing by Gretchen; he picked up the bag of ice she had left on the counter. It was a silent and habitual practice. Dib slapped the cold pack over his swelling cheek as he re-entered his office. He hunched over his phone and speed-dialed his dentist.

"Hello? This is the office of Doctor Toothfairy. How may I be of assistance?"

"It's Dib, please tell D.T. I'm coming in. Gaz was irritated."

"I'm sorry but do you have an appointment sir?"

"An appointment? Don't you know I'm not required to make appointments? I'm Dib. Are you new?"

"I'm sorry sir but that is not of any relevance to you. We can't treat you without an appointment, have a nice day."

Dib sighed as the secretary hung up on him. Today was not his day. As an FBI agent he wasn't required to make appointments but today he just had to deal with one of the newbies.

Dragging himself out of his office he walked towards the entrance of the building. He continued out of the building and towards his car. Pulling out his keys from his coat pocket, Dib let out a frustrated growl as his wallet fell out and onto the wet, slimy ground of New York. Today was _so _not his day. Reaching down for his wallet, he was surprised to see another pair of feet on the other side of his car. 'Who is that?' Paranoia blurred reason as thoughts of the killer standing on the other side of the BMW leaked into Dib's mind. Swiftly and silently pale hands drew out a pistol from an inside coat pocket, Dib slowly walked around the car, pistol pointed towards the direction of the mystery feet. One more step and he would see the man whom killed six people mercilessly. Fingers tightened around the trigger about to fire, when

'what? Where did he go?' Dib glanced around before looking down and seeing his 'killer'. A young boy, probably in his early teenage years, was definitely not what he was expecting.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

Dark eyes were wide with fear, skinny frame trembling. 'Oops, I forgot to put down the gun.' Dib lowered the firearm from the kid's forehead before repeating his question. He even forced a smile on his frowning face.

"Squee!" The kid trembled and clutched at raggedy clothes so tightly they were ready to tear apart.

"Squee? Is that your name?"

"Squee." The boy shook his head so hard his head almost went soaring off his pencil neck. Dib took it as a no.

"Are you lost, kid?" 'He looks kind of familiar.'

The short kid took a suspicious glance around before stuttering out a nervous "yes".

Dib sighed, while shooing away the thought of knowing the kid. "Alright, let's go inside and call the police. That way we can get you back to your parents. Sound good?"

Eyes widened even more and limbs tightened. A no.

'Wait, the mood Gaz is in, she'd probably cut off his head anyway'. "Ok, then, how about we go visit Dr. Toothfairy, kid? I need to get my teeth fixed." Dib smiled for the kid, who cringed away at the sight.

Dib opened the passenger-side door of his car and gestured for the kid to take a seat. "Come on now kid, let's get to Dr. Toothfairy, you can have the candy he gives me. We can drive to the police afterwards."

The kid still looked nervous about it all and took another glace around before hesitantly shuffling into the car seat. Dib shut the door with a thud before walking around the car and getting into it himself.

He effortlessly started the manual car and pulled out of the parking lot onto the road in a matter of seconds. Driving along the dirty streets, Dib was about to turn on some music to block out the awkward silence, when the kid started freaking out and pointing outside of the car window. He didn't even get to glance out before something crashed into his windshield.

"What the hell!" Dib slammed on the brakes while frantically trying to figure out what in fuck's name was going on. 'What was that?' He didn't get another second to think before another crash impacted, this time through the kid's window. 'Is that a stop sign? In my back seat?!'

A skinny claw-like hand ripped open the remaining portion of his car door before a shadow-like figure loomed inside and grabbed the kid. Dib whipped out his gun but couldn't risk hitting the kid. He leaped out of his car, ignoring the glass ripping into his skin.

"Whoever you are, put down the child and put your hands in the air!"

The figure's black-clad back was all Dib could see, and it wasn't even paying attention to him. From what he could tell, it looked like a male but he couldn't sure. It was ruffling the kid's hair. Dib began to step around his car when glass cracked underneath his foot and the figure turned around to throw a stick of dynamite from God knows where right onto what was left of his car.

"Shit," was all Dib choked out before he was hurtled towards the sidewalk, pieces of his car landing around and onto him, and passed out. Today was most undeniably, infinitely indefinitely _not_ his day.

_To be continued_

Ok, before you kill me just let me say, I'm so very sincerely sorry. I really was working on this for a very long time, I know. But it's not all entirely my fault. Workloads have been hell in school, auditions for All-State orchestra was looming close, and I was having major writer's blockage. I would write a chapter, hate it, revise it, still hate it, so I would re-write it. Take that cycle and repeat it three times and you'll get what happened with this chapter.

Anyway, it's done and I hope you liked it.

_I write sins not tragedies_ eagerly awaiting a few reviews will sign out now.


End file.
